


komm gib mir deine hand

by seaquestions



Series: niko's deadceptor fics [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Cyberverse
Genre: Dead End is personally offended by Percy's lack of self-care (also he's gay and wants to hold hands), Hand Massage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:02:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22916668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaquestions/pseuds/seaquestions
Summary: Perceptor doesn't take care of himself. Dead End is bothered by that.
Relationships: Dead End/Perceptor
Series: niko's deadceptor fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668763
Comments: 19
Kudos: 151





	komm gib mir deine hand

**Author's Note:**

> me @ seeing dead end holding percy by the hand in cyberverse: oh, gay????
> 
> anyway. perceptor can have little a decepticon boyfriend. as a snack.

Perceptor's hands were rougher than he thought they'd be. _Intellectual class Iacon lab-rats like him_ , Dead End thought, _never held anything heavier than a datapad_. Never had to carry anything too heavy for your weight class. Never had to get dragged into fights your shitty team leader started with other mecha. Smooth servos fit to hold pens and gadgets and remotes.

But no. Perceptor's hands were quite rough. The metal dinged and scratched, the joints creaky. A little bit of wear and tear would've been normal, what with the war and all, but it was as if Perceptor never bothered with any maintenance of any kind.

Though, looking at the two gaping holes where his optics were should've made that obvious enough.

“You didn't even patch them up.”

The Autobot scientist's scope swiveled in Dead End's direction, servos still typing jargon on his screen.

“Hm?”

Dead End took a sip of his energon. Somehow, even in a world ravaged by Quints, Maccadam's brew was still as good as ever.

“Your optics,” he said, “Or the holes, I should say. You're just leaving them wide open, with the edges still raw.”

“And what of it?”

“Isn't that—I dunno, kinda unsafe?” Dead End asked, “You can access the brain module from there, can't you?” 

Perceptor hummed as he continued to push buttons, but after a few kliks, he set the datapad down and turned to face Dead End. 

“Yes. You can,” he said, “If you are mnemosurgeon. Which I am sure you are not.”

Dead End arched his brow. “Uhh, I was thinking more of like, debris getting in there. Or the Quintessons.”

Perceptor was silent.

“Ah.”

“Uh-huh.”

Before the Autobot could pick his datapad up and pretend nothing ever happened, Dead End leaned in.

“You _really_ don't ever take care of yourself huh.”

Perceptor leaned back. “Well. We cannot _all_ be speedsters who polish themselves up even in a time when any kind of finish is likely to be ruined the next day.”

The Decepticon snorted. “You talkin' about me or Hot Rod?”

(A small “Hey!” is heard in the background.)

“Anyway, I'm not talking about finish and you know that. I'm talking about basic maintenance.”

The scientist scoffed. “I maintain myself well enough.”

“No, you don't.”

“I do—”

“Mech, I can _hear_ your joints creak when you type. That's not a good sign. Even _Wildrider_ took more care of his frame than you do, and that's saying something.”

Perceptor scowled and began to turn away, but stopped when Dead End caught his arm.

“What.”

The former Stunticon simply pulled out a small bottle of oil and a cloth from his subspace, moving his hand from the middle of Perceptor's forearm to his hand.

“Just let me do this.”

Perceptor sat still and watched through his scope as Dead End poured a bit of oil onto the cloth and began applying it onto his hand. The fabric was soft and Dead End's touch was gentler than expected as he worked through each servo. By the time Dead End finished with his middle servo, Perceptor was able to loosen his joints and relax.

It felt… nice.

Dead End set his one hand down and moved onto the next one. Perceptor flexed his servos. The motion was smooth, much smoother than it's ever been. He looked down at the Decepticon, perplexed. Dead End's brow was furrowed in concentration, like he was trying not to break something delicate. 

Perceptor didn't want to break the peaceful silence. For once, everyone in the bar was relatively quiet. Hot Rod and Soundwave weren't bickering and were actually having a civil conversation, and Clobber was having a nice nap in the corner. But he had to ask.

“Why are you doing this?”

To his complete lack of surprise, Dead End shrugged. He did, however, offer a little bit of an explanation.

“You’re the only one with brains in this whole group,” Dead End said, “So I’d rather you not have a total joint lock-up and not be able to do anything, you know?”

Perceptor let that statement bounce around in his processor. The logic was sound enough, though exaggerated.

“Besides, Drag Strip used to make me do this all the time. I'm good at it.”

“He _made_ you do it?”

Dead End made a weird grimace. “Ehh. No, but. You know.”

Perceptor did not know. But before he could ask, the Decepticon straightened up and set his hand down.

“There you go. Good as new.”

The Autobot looked down at his hands, flexing his servos and testing his joints. Aside from the scratches and imperfections, they really did feel like they came straight from the factory. Perceptor reached out and gently grabbed Dead End's hands, letting their servos intertwine, stimulating certain nervecircuits.

“Uh. What.”

Dead End's face was flushed, brow ridge raised up and optics wide.

“Oh,” Perceptor said, himself also thrown off-balance, “You… do not speak hand?”

“N-no! Where would I even learn that!”

Perceptor was about to pull away, when Dead End leaned in again.

“Wait, no! I, uh,” he tightened his grip, “I wanna know what you said.”

Perceptor processed the request for a klik as he realised what exactly Dead End was asking for.

“Oh, do you? Well, I can simply _tell_ you what it meant, but,” he said, as a small, slightly smug smile pulled at the corners of his lips, his thumb rubbing a circle onto Dead End's palm, “Would you rather I teach you?”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! ✌


End file.
